


What Little Boys Are Supposed To Do

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Episode: s01e05 The Crackpots and These Women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-02
Updated: 2006-02-02
Packaged: 2019-05-30 09:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15093821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Josh looks back to the accident that takes the life of his sister.





	What Little Boys Are Supposed To Do

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

What Little Boys are Supposed to Do 

A Josh Vignette, set after "Crackpots and These Women"

I sat in my office with Ave Maria playing on repeat for a long time after CJ left. There was no one around - everyone had either gone to the party or to their homes.

Joanie might've been at the party, I thought. The world famous conductor, Joan Lyman, would always have had a place at the White House, and in my office. I would've called her a few months beforehand and she would've made some jokes about how I owed her a favour for this, but she would've loved it. Between the music and the people...She and Donna would've gotten along so well. They shared similar off-beat senses of humour, and a love of giving me a hard time. And their hair - we'd always joked that Joanie was adopted, the one blonde in a family of auburn-haired people...She'd worn it long and brushed and styled it constantly.

It had been french-braided at the funeral home, with little tendrils around her face, looking nearly white against the elegant black dress she'd bought to wear at her Bat Mitzvah, scheduled for only a few weeks after she died.

I'd never told a soul - other than Stanley - about my sister. And no one but I knew how much her death was my fault.

We'd been watching a television movie on that Saturday night that she was babysitting me. Our parents were at a party at my father's law firm, and I'd begged Joanie to make popcorn until eventually she gave in. The machine had a special heat shield thing, so she'd told me to go ahead and get it once it was done.

It would be another day before I realized I'd never turned off the machine.

I'd fallen asleep on the couch in the living room, but Joanie had gone to her bedroom, located in the hall between the kitchen and living room. I woke up at a little after eleven, and the room was full of smoke.

I'd coughed, then panicked. Throwing my shoes on, I'd dashed out the front door and across the small yard to Jason Meyer's house. His mother was still awake, watching television, and looked up as I banged through the front door. "Josh, what's wrong?"

"Our house...smoke..." I had gasped, out of breath from running faster than I ever had or have since.

"Where's the rest of your family?" Her normally milky complexion had become just plain pasty.

"Mom and Dad are at a party for work, Joanie..." It had finally dawned on me. "Joanie's still in there! She's in her room, we have to get her out!"

"Hang on, Josh, I'm calling 911." She did, and ten minutes later we hard sirens. Mrs. Meyer and I ran out to my front yard in time to see a firefighter walk out, a limp figure in his arms.

"Joanie!" I'd screamed, racing across the yard until Mrs. Meyer pulled me back. I'd watched them load her carefully into the ambulance. "Where are they taking her?" I'd demanded.

"To the Emergency Room. Come with me. I need you to try and remember where this party your parents are at is being held," Mrs. Meyer'd instructed me.

"Dad's work..."

"Okay, let's find the number." She'd led me back to her house, where she found the number near the phone within minutes. "May I speak with Noah or Karen Lyman, please? It's an emergency." Pause. "Noah? This is Susan Meyer from next door...There's been a fire." There was silence for awhile, which I found out later was my father dropping the phone. Mrs. Meyer explained what we knew, then hung up and turned to me. "They're gonna meet us at the hospital." I could only nod as it all sunk in.

The drive to the hospital was short and silent, and I could never forget the look on my mother's face when I'd turned that corridor. She ran to me and squeezed me tightly, murmuring in Hebrew as tears cascaded down her cheeks.

And the next thing that I remember was the doctor walking out and talking quietly to my mother and father, my mother nearly fainting as her legs gave way, and then my parents going to another room. Then there was the funeral the next day.

She'd looked perfectly normal to me, a young boy who didn't know any better, who'd assumed his sister was under observation. Her long hair was French braided and her black dress looked gorgeous on her. While Jason had been trying to convince me of it for awhile, even I had to admit - my sister was very pretty.

I hadn't really understood the funeral business until a little later. Until I watched them close my sister's bed and lower it into the ground. It was then that the news had hit me, and I started bawling loudly in the middle of the crowd, completely shameless.

I'd done what little boys were supposed to do, Stanley had said. But little boys weren't supposed to set their houses on fire and kill their sisters. Little boys weren't supposed to be the ones responsible for death, remaining unscathed when everyone else they loved had been victimized.

Little boys weren't supposed to go through that. It was too much for a grown man to handle.

 

The End

 


End file.
